


The Making Of A Champion, Step One: Wear Pants

by henrywinter (bakkhant)



Series: JJ Style Week 2017 [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Childhood, Family, Fluff, Gen, JJStyleWeek, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-29 05:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakkhant/pseuds/henrywinter
Summary: Written for JJStyleWeek, Day 3: Childhood.Four-year-old JJ takes a fall on the ice.





	The Making Of A Champion, Step One: Wear Pants

**Author's Note:**

> Let's give Nathalie Leroy some love. She deserves it.
> 
> Here's [my art](https://bakkhanalia.tumblr.com/post/162815598610/aaand-my-art-for-my-fic-for-jjstyleweek-day-3-d) for this fic :D

Jean-Jacques Leroy is a force to be reckoned with.  

Of course, Nathalie knew this the moment he came into the world on a clear summer’s morning, squalling and shrieking at the top of his tiny lungs. Nathalie had held him then, aching to soothe him, feeling like her heart could burst with pride. 

 _I’d give you the world,_ she’d thought, cradling the precious bundle close. _And if only I could, I’d make sure you’d never need to cry again._

(As it happened, that time, he was just hungry.)

Then, four years had passed in a heartbeat, and now her boy stands almost as high as her hip - when he stands still, that is. Which happens almost never, because he’s a formidable toddler, approaching everything in his little world with the same wholehearted energy as that very first scream.

Unfortunately, he’s now applying that energy to running from her as fast as he can, giggling aloud with excitement. Considering that he can zoom straight through the tight spaces between chairs and under tables, it’s pretty fast. He’s giggling aloud, delighted to be winning this game.

“Jean-Jacques,” Nathalie shouts after him, a tad breathless, “ _please just put some pants on._ ”

She corners him in the end; he tries to squirm away at first, then gives up and slowly turns to her once he realises there’s no escape.

“Why?” he asks, looking up at her with defiance all over his face.

“Because,” Nathalie explains patiently, even though she’s just spent a good twenty minutes dancing around her own furniture, “we’re going to the rink. And we can’t do that if you don’t have all your clothes on.”

He mulls this over for a few seconds. “But,” he says, and isn’t _that_ a clear warning sign, “but - but - I don’t have to wear clothes, ‘cause - in the big picture with papa in it in the kitchen, he’s only wearing _knickers_.”

“Boxer briefs,” Nathalie corrects automatically, suddenly distracted by a strong urge to bury her head in her hands. Then, because quick reflexes are a must around her son, “Well, you know, papa’s allowed to do that because papa’s an Olympic champion.”

His eyes widen, obviously not having considered this before. 

“Okay,” he says, after a while. “Okay, when I grow up, I’m going to be an Olympic champion like you and papa, so I don’t have to wear pants. Ever again.”

“You do that,” Nathalie tells him, mostly thankful that he’s finally staying in one place long enough that she can dress him now.

 

* * *

 

They make it to the rink in the end. As soon as she’s tied the rental skates to Jean-Jacques’ feet (she and Alain have already decided to give him a custom-made pair for his fifth birthday, if he’s still interested in skating then), he’s off like a shot, eager as always to get going. 

When he’d first shown an aptitude for the ice, she’d immediately sat down for a serious conversation with Alain, by the end of which they’d both agreed that as exciting as the idea of their son following in their footsteps was, they wouldn’t force anything on him.  

Still - she has to admit to a little thrill of pride when their boy, fearless as ever, plunges right into the midst of mostly-adults, and starts whizzing round the rink like he was born to do it. She follows him at a more leisurely pace, wishing she’d brought a camera. Oh, well, there would be plenty more chances: he wasn’t going to lose his love of skating anytime soon, by the looks of it.

He might only have been coming here for a year and a half, but he’s easily better than most of the older children here. Nathalie’s confident enough in his abilities that she leaves him to his own devices, only scanning the rink from time to time for the red jacket to make sure he’s safe. She takes the time to attune herself to the ice, sometimes trying a few jumps, sometimes just gliding along. Her Olympic days are long over, but she didn’t begin skating just to compete.

She’s halfway through an old program in her head - Vivaldi, ‘Spring’ - when from the corner of her eye, she sees the little red jacket flail, fall. 

It’s far from unusual. Falls happen, of course they do: she’s suddenly found herself intimately and painfully acquainted with the ice more times than she can count; JJ, daring as he is, more often than not leaves the rink with a few fresh bumps and bruises.

So she isn’t that worried, really, until a second passes, two, and he still doesn’t jump right up. He’s near the centre of the rink because he likes to skate fast; too few people are slowing when they near him, blades slicing dangerously close to his unprotected face.

She rushes towards him, dodging through moving bodies, heart clenched tight with fear - but he’s alright, he’s getting up, and by the time she reaches him, he’s on his feet again, albeit wobbling a little. She breathes through her relief.

He grins when he catches sight of her, eyes big and baby-blue, and strikes a pose for her benefit.

“You OK to go on?” Nathalie asks anyway, not really concerned anymore, but just to be sure. 

A vigorous nod. “‘Course,” her son tells her, half-yelling because he’s already skating away. “I’m gonna be an Olympic champion!”

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what I did well, less well, appallingly, _please_.


End file.
